Fraülein
by RedStockingsAndAWimple
Summary: As Berlin burns, Germany says goodbye to a little girl.


Many thanks to Jacquzy for the beta and the encouragement.

* * *

The world is ending.

A shell falls. The walls shake. Lights flicker, and women shriek. Germany stumbles a little as he walks through the bunker. Quickly, he steadies himself. He must be strong and firm. He must hold his head forever high. He is the pinnacle of creation, the greatest of all the nations, or so he has been told. There are men, women, and children ready to lay down their lives in order to protect him from invaders; his brother, who he has not heard from in almost a week, is fighting tooth and nail for him. He must prove himself worthy of their sacrifices; he cannot let their deaths be in vain. He will fight, even if Russia and America kill his body over and over and over again. He will never give in. He must not.

His Führer's words ring loudly in his head. "Look at what I have done for you. Look how I saved you from the pitiful state you were in after the war. I have made you great! Frederick the Great did not sacrifice more for your disappointment of a brother than I did for you! Bismarck gave his career for you, but I have given you my life! Think of your people. Are you willing to let them fall under the enemy's dark shadow? Are you going to let our struggles and accomplishments fail? If you do not fight until your heart has stopped beating and rise to fight again, then I will know that I should never have wasted my effort on you. You can die, you and your brother, because that is what you deserve. But I know you will never fail me. I knew that the moment I first met you, in those trenches. It has been almost thirty years, but I believed in you then, and I believe in you know. Do not prove me wrong, Germany. Fight. Fight for me."

Germany rests his forehead against the smooth, gray wall. Berlin burns, and he feels it in his heart, in his muscles, in the marrow of his bones. The painful, dull ache that has been plaguing him constantly for three years has flared with a vengeance. His people are suffering, and yet his Führer still expects them to sacrifice everything. Germany's mind is torn between loyalty to his people and duty to his leader. He must obey, but he cannot ignore his citizens' pain. "I'm sorry," he whispers to no one in particular. "I'm sorry."

"Germany?" Surprised, he turns to spy Helga, his Minister of Propaganda's eldest standing a few feet away. She watches him with concerned, keen eyes.

"Hello Fräulein." He manages a small smile. She should not be here, not this close to the entrance of the bunker, where soldiers and once proud generals drink and discuss the easiest ways to take their own lives when the time comes. She should not be in this place at all, and Germany does not understand why Frau Goebbels brought her children here. It cannot only be so they can stay near their father. "You need to be with your sisters and brother."

Helga shakes her head. "I'll be thirteen in a few months. I can wander around if I want to." She lowers her voice. "Don't tell Mama or Frau Junge if you see them, though. I think Mama would be angry if she found out."

"No, I promise I won't."

"Are you going back up there?" she asks.

"Yes." His heart clenches painfully. There are children fighting for him, dying for him, but he can never tell her that.

Helga nods. "We are losing this war, aren't we?"

The question astonishes Germany. "You don't need to worry about that."

Helga's eyes flash, and Germany is suddenly reminded of her father. "Everyone tells me that!" she exclaims. "They keep pretending everything is all right, even though we all can hear the bombs and the shells. I know why they say it; they don't want to upset the little ones. I can hear them too, though, and I'm too old to pretend that everything is going well. We would not be here if it was. Everyone always tells me how clever I am and how I'm just like Papa, but they will not tell me what's really going on. Not even Papa will tell me anything, and he has always been so honest before. 'Do not worry about a thing, Helga,' he says. I don't want to worry, but I do want to know, and ignorance is worse. Germany, please tell me. What is going on?"

He sighs. "We are losing."

Helga takes a deep breath. "I see." She is calmer than Germany expected. "Are you going to surrender?"

"That is the Führer's decision. For now, he wants to fight as long as we're able."

"I'm sure Uncle Adolf will give the order soon. He doesn't want to see you suffer. Neither do I."

Germany does not tell her that the Führer seems determined to wage the war until there is nothing left for the invaders to take. She knows more than enough already. "Yes." He smiles now, a little more sincerely. "Thank you." It is a relief to speak so honestly to someone. For years, he has lied, to Italy, to his brother, Japan, Austria, Hungary, the world, himself. Telling her the truth lifts a small weight off his heart and eases some of the pain. She knows they have lost this long struggle, and she does not care for him any less. It is a welcome balm.

"What will happen when you surrender?" she asks.

"I do not know," he replies, and it is the truth. "That will be up for my enemies to decide."

"It would be nice if things went back to the way they were before the war," she says. "I don't remember it very well, but we were always very happy." She smiles then, the same wide smile she has inherited from her father. "When things are settled, you have to come visit us. We can go swimming and ride in the pony cart if the weather is warm. Maybe we could also try making something sweet. It was fun that one time we tried it, even though the batter ended up almost everywhere. Do you remember that, Germany?"

"I do." It had been a warm day in late spring before he had gone to Poland. The children had discovered Germany's interest in baking and had begged to join him in the kitchen, much to their parents' amusement. Managing five young children while mixing a cake was almost more difficult than cleaning up after Italy, and Germany had not been prepared for the task. Somehow, the dessert turned out well, even if they all ended up thoroughly covered in batter, crumbs, and icing. It had been fun, more so than Germany had expected.

"Do you think Italy will come visit us again?" A slight blush spreads across her cheeks. "It's been so long since we've seen him."

"He might." He hopes so. He remembers the way Italy's face lit up when he saw the five little girls, calling them _bella_ and putting flowers in their soft hair. His hair had gleamed copper in the sunlight as he danced with the children. Germany wonders if Italy will even want to see him again after all that has occurred. He had been wrong, so, so wrong, but he had needed Italy to remain at his side and was prepared to agree to anything to see that happen. And even that had crumbled into dust, leaving nothing but shame and horror over what he had done to someone he had cared about so deeply. If the world made sense, Italy would stay as far away from Germany as he could manage. But the world was a wild and nonsensical place, and Germany can only pray that Italy will one day be able to forgive him.

"And maybe, we will all be able to walk together in the forest like we used to."

"I would like that very much." His voice is rough and his throat burns.

Another shell falls too close. One of his wounds reopens, and he feels blood soak through the bandages. The earth quakes, and Helga falls into Germany's arms. She is frightened. "Is that what you're going back to?" Her voice trembles slightly.

"I'm afraid so."

She collects herself as well as she can. Pulling one of her braids loose, she hand him the ribbon. Her dark hair falls like a curtain on one side of her face. "In that case, I want you to have this. It can be your good luck charm. When things get bad up there, really bad, you can remember you have this and think of me. And if you're frightened, so frightened that you don't know what to do, you can look at this and know that I'm waiting for you and need to see you again."

He holds the silky blue ribbon in his hand, careful not to dirty it with his filthy fingers. Gently, he tucks it into the breast pocket of his uniform, next to a flower Italy had given him many years ago when they promised that they would always protect and look out for each other. He had failed Italy, but he will not fail her. He would come back. The world would be different, difficult, probably more than after the last war, but maybe one day the skies would clear and he could enjoy peace. And then they would walk together in the sunshine with Italy at his side. It is a dream, but one he is determined to see brought to reality.

"I will." He needs something to give her. Reaching into his pocket, he places one of his spare buttons in her hand. "Take care of this for me," he tells her. "I might need it when this is over." Her fist closes around the button tightly, and she nods dutifully. "Now get back before your mother notices you are missing."

"Of course." Rising to the very tops of her toes, Helga presses her lips to his dirty forehead.

"Auf Wiedersehen, Germany."

Germany bends down and kisses her forehead. His lips leave a smudge of dirt and dust, but he knows she does not care.

"Auf Wiedersehen, Fräulein."

* * *

Notes:

On April 30, 1945, Hitler committed suicide. He appointed his Minister of Propaganda, Joseph Goebbels as his successor. The next day, Madga Goebbels poisoned their six children, and she and her husband killed themselves. I won't go into the details of what Madga Goebbels did, but Helga realized what was going on and fought, resulting in numerous bruises and a broken jaw (according to the Russian autopsy).

Unlike her portrayal in the excellent movie _Downfall_, Helga was actually dark-haired, taking after her father in looks, personality, and intellect. According to accounts of those in the _Führerbunker_ during the last days of the war, Helga seemed to know how dire the situation was, even though her parents and the other adults tried to hide what was really happening from the children.

This little fic arose back when I was working on my thesis on Goebbels and watching the home movies his children made for his birthday. I figured that if Rommel played with the children, then Goebbels certainly would have made sure they spent a lot of time with the physical embodiment of their nation. I see Germany having a great deal of affection for them, much like Russia and Nicholas II's children, and the conflict between innocence and utter destruction intrigued me.


End file.
